


Dulce et Decorum Est

by k_drake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_drake/pseuds/k_drake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You-Know-Who has been defeated, but the world is not yet safe.  There is still much work to be done at the Ministry of Magic, where Frank and Alice Longbottom are Aurors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dulce et Decorum Est

“Still alive, Longbottom?”

“That I am, though I can’t guarantee much more than that; it’s bloody early, Moody.  What did you want me for?”

“Doge still hasn’t come back,” growled Moody. He was peering suspiciously around at the shadows in the Aurors’ office, as if expecting a Death Eater to jump out at any moment.

“Well, no, Moody, he’s on holiday. It doesn’t usually involve lots of _work_.”

“Did you ever stop to wonder _why_ he’s on holiday?”

“Well, he needed a bit of a rest, didn’t he, after the Fenwick incident.  Benjy was one of his best friends.”

“And mine,” said Moody. “That’s why I’m trying to find his killers, not run off to Majorca…if that’s where Doge went.”

“We can’t all be as tireless as you are, Alastor.  Doge gave us all he had until You-Know-Who disappeared.  He’s earned his time off—even Crouch thought so.”  Frank Longbottom gave his colleague a worried glance. “Why? Do you think something happened to him?”

Moody looked at him with dark, exhausted eyes. _Does the man_ ever _sleep?_ Frank wondered. “I don’t know.” He said. “But I have a feeling.  I’ll be checking up on him though. Remember, Longbottom, _constant—_ ”

“— _vigilance_ , yes, I know.”

Moody snorted. “Don’t forget it.  That’s not why I called you here, though.”

“No? I hope it’s a really good reason.  I woke up the baby, and Alice nearly strangled me when he started crying again.”

“Children are a liability, magnets for enemies.”

“But they’re so adorable—the children that is, not the enemies.”

“I brought you here because of this,” said Moody, handing Frank a letter. “It came by owl late last night.”

_Dear Mr. Crouch,_

_I have information as to the whereabouts of the missing wizard, Caradoc Dearborn.  He is alive, but imprisoned, and may be in danger. Unaided, I cannot free him, but I am confident that it will be a simple task for your capable Aurors. I have heard his family has offered a reward of 1000 Galleons for his safe return, and I would be happy to tell the Ministry everything I know, if you will be so kind as to send an officer, along with the reward, to the Blue Razor (a pub located on Knockturn Alley) tomorrow night  at 8 o’clock sharp. Mr. Dearborn’s family may wish to send a representative as well_. _I look forward to seeing you, as, I’m sure, does Mr. Dearborn._

“Has Crouch seen this?”

“Yes, but he has more pressing concerns.  We are to act as we see fit.”

“Then, we should pursue it.  There never was any proof that Caradoc was killed…could be the enemy was keeping him prisoner all this time.  Now that You-Know-Who is gone. I bet this a former Death Eater, looking to make a deal with the ministry.” Frank smiled. “Must have seen what you did to Rosier, and gotten scared.”

“It was no worse than what those scum did to Fenwick,” Moody replied grimly.

“Do you think things will ever be the same?” Frank asked wistfully.

“There’s no going back,” said Moody grimly. 

 _Serves me right, I suppose_ , thought Frank. _You’d sooner get water out of a stone than optimism out of Alastor Moody._

“I’ll go to the Blue Razor,” Frank announced.

“I’ll go with you,” said Moody. “You can’t be too careful.”

“Of course.  Should be inform the Dearborns?”

“His sister is the only one left alive.”

“I’ll send her an owl then.  How’s the Karkaroff case coming?”

“We know where he is.  The coward is hiding, of course, holed up in some flophouse in Bulgaria.” Moody looked at his watch. “Actually, the Bulgarian Aurors should be storming the building now.  They’ll be bringing him in using the Floo Network. Didn’t want to Apparate, you see; we can’t risk a splinching in such a high-profile case.  They should be bringing him up any minute, now…”

There was a loud crash, followed by a series of very loud curses on what Frank assumed was Bulgarian.

“That’ll be them,” said Moody, his tone approximating cheerfulness for the first time that day. “Someone’s got to stay around and round up the rest of You-Know-Who’s filth…we can’t all go to Majorca.”

Frank stifled a smile. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to Doge.”

Moody sprinted off, and Frank gratefully went to the coffee pot in order to pour himself a cup.  He hadn’t wanted to do it while Moody was still standing there, for fear that Moody would subject his poor mug to a lengthy scrutiny, checking coffee and cream for poison. Also, he felt that Moody considered coffee a sign of weakness, required only by those frail enough to feel tired.  At least there was one good thing about getting to work early, he thought, as he reached for the pastry box: there were still powdered donuts.

Frank retreated to his office.  Pasted all over the walls were pictures of his wife Alice and their small son, Neville.  In a few months, Neville would have his first birthday, and Alice was urging Frank to take some time off so that they could have a holiday as a family.  He hoped she wouldn’t mind taking Moody along, since he’d likely be stalking them the way he was Doge. 

He spent the next two hours sorting through the pile of paperwork on his desk, and had almost forgotten about the mysterious letter and its sender.  He was just going over the report on the Wilkes case…another which had ended in death.  The Auror who killed him seemed to have been justified, but not all cases were so clear-cut.  Frank knew of at least three incidences where the victims had been killed or cursed…and innocent.  The Bagman boy was the latest in a series of mistaken arrests, though luckily his case had been thrown out, and no harm had come to him.   

Frank massaged his temples; sometimes he wondered if he was doing the right thing by continuing to support Crouch.  True, it was important to present a unified front to the rest of the world…enemies lurked everywhere, after all.  He shook his head, to clear it.  He was starting to sound paranoid, like Moody.  Maybe he should listen to his wife; Alice kept threatening to quit.  Crouch was turning the Aurors into nothing more than mercenaries, she said, his own pack of hired killers.   

“Frank?”

He looked up. “Williamson,” he said. “How are you?”

“All right. Listen, there’s something—or someone—that I thought you might be interested in.  They just brought in the werewolf’s wife.”

“Erik Mayrink’s wife?”

“Yes.  They were after Erik originally…but he managed to escape.  They have evidence linking him to the Dark Arts.  There’s no telling where he might be now, although Crouch might be in favor of using Bianca as a lure before they pack her off to Azkaban…”

“Has _she_ done anything?”

“There’s no proof, although I doubt Mayrink could have done it all under his wife’s nose; no, I say she was an accomplice.”

“That ought to get her—what? A year at most?”

“Hardly. Under the new laws, evidence tampering and obstruction of justice carry much heavier penalties. She’ll get more like five years.”

“ _Five_? But you just said yourself, she didn’t do anything!”

“I know. Dawlish is interrogating her right now, and you know he can be a bit harsh sometimes. Not very amiable.  But, I’m sure Crouch would be much more inclined to clemency if she’d agree to talk…that’s where you come in.”

 “I hardly know Bianca Mayrink.  I only met her once, at the Ministry Christmas party.”

“Yes, but I think you’ll be able to relate to her on…certain matters.”

Frank opened his mouth to question him further, but Williamson interrupted. “She’s in interrogation room ten. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Frank closed Wilkes’ file and followed Williamson out of the office.

The interrogation room was small and windowless. Bianca Mayrink sat there.  She was a small woman, with bunches of soft, fawn-colored hair and large brown eyes. These eyes narrowed as Frank came in, though she quickly looked away.

Dawlish was standing up, towering over her.

“You’re not leaving until you tell us where your husband is,” he was saying menacingly.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t know where he is!”

“Why are you protecting him? He’s left you to rot in Azkaban? Are you going to let him get off scot-free? Tell us where he is and you’ll go home.”

“I’d rather spend a lifetime in Azkaban than go home a betrayer!”

“Dawlish,” said Frank. “Can I have a word?”

Dawlish glared at him, but followed him outside.

“Why don’t you let me have a go?” asked Frank. “I have a bit of experience in this area,” he said, quoting Williamson.

“Perhaps.” Dawlish seemed doubtful, but he did agree to let Frank go back in unaccompanied.

“Hello, Bianca,” he said mildly. They had taken her before she had a chance to get properly dressed, and she was still wearing her nightclothes, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her; fuzzy purple slippers adorned her feet.

She squinted at him.  “Do I know you?”

“You probably won’t remember, but we met once, at the Ministry Christmas party. I’m Frank Longbottom.”

“Oh.” She held out a hand, which he took. “I do remember you; I’m afraid my eyesight is rather poor, though. I did not have time to retrieve my glasses; they did not allow me even that small courtesy.”

“Mrs. Mayrink, I _am_ sorry for how you’ve been treated. You must understand, though, that given the circumstances…”

“I understand the circumstances perfectly well, thank you,” said Bianca acidly. “My husband and I are victims of the bigotry and hatred perpetuated by your so-called system of justice.”

“Are you saying your husband is not a Death Eater, despite proof to the contrary?”

“What proof? The only reason they wanted Erik is because he’s a werewolf.”

Frank was stunned into silence; so _this_ was why Dawlish had wanted him to talk to Bianca.  He must have known—Frank did not care to dwell on how he had stumbled on this bit of information—that Frank’s old schoolmate, Remus Lupin, was a werewolf. 

Bianca’s lip was trembling, and she started to sob. “The only reason Erik ran when they came is that…that when c-c-changed, he k-k-killed a Muggle farmer’s cow, and there’s a change the M-M-Muggle might have seen him.  They would have found out he wasn’t listed on the Werewolf Register…”

“Why not?” asked Frank. “It’s our law.”

“You know that no one will hire a wizard listed on that register!” cried Bianca. “It’s professional and social suicide! Erik and I didn’t want to live like that…but he was afraid of what would happen when they found out.  But he wasn’t a Death Eater! God, no! Not my Erik…”

“Have you considered that he may have been hiding it from you? Many werewolves joined You-Know-Who’s cause, you know.”

“ _No!”_ insisted Bianca fiercely. “My husband was _not_ working for You-Know-Who, no more than I was! He even helped one of your Aurors once! Moody, his name was.  Ned helped him find a man named Rosier…”

Frank hesitated. He did remember Moody mentioning something about a tip-off in the Rosier case. “Mrs. Mayrink, if that is the case, then your husband should just turn himself in. I’m sure he would get off with a minimal sentence.”

“ _Any_ sentence is too long, Mr. Longbottom!” Bianca had dried her tears; now, she merely looked furious, her pretty features contorted with rage. “When will you people learn? Being a werewolf is not a crime! You know, the Muggles used to _burn_ witches and wizards, just for being different. Are we any better?”

“Actually, they didn’t get many real wizards…except for Wendelin the Weird…”

“ _That is not the point!_ ”

Frank sighed. “Mrs. Mayrink, I understand your reluctance to help us. And…I believe that you and your husband are innocent.”

“You…you do?”

“Yes. I will speak to my superiors, and see if we can get this thing sorted out.  With any luck, Alastor Moody will testify as a character witness on your husband’s behalf.” He frowned. “And there is no other evidence linking him to You-Know-Who, besides the, uh, lycanthropy?”

“None,” Bianca declared. “Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, for doing this.”

“Call me Frank.  Do you mind waiting here? I should have news in a few hours.”

She laughed bitterly. “I doubt they’d let me leave.”

“Would you care for some tea? A cruller perhaps?”

“Some tea, if you don’t mind.”

“Right away,” he said politely, and turned to leave.

“Mr. Longbottom?”

“Frank.  Yes?”

“You’re a good man.”

***

Alice Longbottom was in her office, poring over a spread of photos. 

“Who are all these men?” he asked. “Should I be jealous?”

Alice laughed. “These are Zephyrine Zabini’s husbands.” She tapped one of the photos. “This is Number Six.  He died recently, and we’re looking into it.”

“You suspect foul play?”

“Literally and figuratively; he died choking on a piece of chicken.”

“Oh, the puns to be had! Where do I begin?”

Alice groaned. “Spare me,” she said. “I’m tired and cranky enough as it is. Neville didn’t want to go back to sleep after you left, and I had to stay up for hours reading _Goodnight, Kneazle_ over and over again.”

“Is Mother with him now?”

“Yes, although I think she scares him, especially with that huge vulture hat of hers.”

“She scares _me_ with that vulture hat of hers.”

“What did Moody want with you, anyway?”

Frank told her about the letter.  Her eyes lit up.  “They’ve found Caradoc?”

“We’re not sure,” he cautioned her.  “Moody and I are going to The Blue Razor tonight to find out if this source is telling the truth.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, Alice; it might be dangerous.”

“Last time I checked, I was an Auror.  I’ve passed the same tests and examinations as you have, Frank.”

“I know.”

“ _We_ fought side by side to help defeat You-Know-Who…I’m not about to leave you now. Besides, I know for a fact that Moody won’t be able to accompany you.”

“Why not?”

“Karkaroff escaped from the Bulgarians. Managed to leap out of the fire and give them the slip. Luckily, they had already confiscated and broken his wand.  He’s leading them on a merry chase around Berlin at the moment.  I expect Moody will bring him back eventually, but not in time for your little meeting.”

Frank sighed. “I guess you don’t leave me any choice.”

She grinned at him. “I guess I don’t. I’ll write to Gwenda, shall I?”

“No, let’s wait.”

“Why? Her brother might still be alive! She has a right to know!”

“Yes, but if it turns out he’s _not_ alive, then it will just dredge up painful memories.”

Alice sighed. “You’re right. I just…I want him to be alive so badly.  He was so _young,_ Frank.”

“We all were; we still are.”

“Oh, but I feel so aged.  But Caradoc…no matter how bad things ever got, he never lost his determination, or his cheerfulness. He stayed innocent.  I don’t think any of the rest of us managed to do that.  I hope we find him.  It would prove to me that there’s some modicum of justice in the world.”

***

 

“This is not justice, Dawlish.”

“The man—or should I say wolf?—is obviously steeped in the Dark Arts…”

“Being a werewolf doesn’t make him evil! Was there any other evidence tying him to the Death Eaters?”

Dawlish stuck out his lip. “He ran, didn’t he? Why would an innocent man feel the need to hide?”

“I don’t know. If four armed wizards stormed into your bedroom, brandishing their wands, would you really stick around to have a chat?” demanded Frank.

“So you believe the wife, do you?”

“Yes, I do. And she said Moody will vouch for the husband.”

Dawlish’s lip curled. “Convenient. Moody isn’t here right now.”

“I know, I know, he’s in Berlin. You expect that was all a clever plan of Mayrink’s?”

“I suppose not,” Dawlish admitted reluctantly.

“I want you to cancel the order to kill Mayrink on sight, and I want you to promise that, if no more evidence crops up, he won’t be charged.”

“I can’t give my word that he won’t be charged, but I will cancel the order.”

“Good. And let Mrs. Mayrink go home, for God’s sake.”

Dawlish nodded. “But we’re going to send a detail with her, so she can be watched.”

“A prudent move, I’m sure,” said Frank, and left to tell Bianca the news.

 

***

It was quite chilly by the time Frank and Alice left the Ministry offices to head toward Knockturn Alley.  They stopped near the elevator/phone booth to knot each other’s scarves and exchange a brushing kiss before continuing on to their destination.

“Did you tell your mother we’d be late?” asked Alice.

“Ye-es.”

“You mean ‘no.’”

“I mean ‘yes’…just in the negative sense of the word.”

“Frank!”

“I hate telling her we’ll be late! She starts asking all these questions about what I’m doing, who I’m seeing…I’m telling you, prisoners are lucky they haven’t got her up in Azkaban to pry their secrets out of them. They’d be begging the Dementors for a kiss.”

“Don’t joke about that,” said Alice darkly.  She had her cowl pulled low over her face, which made her look like a bit of a Dementor herself, though Frank did not say so.

The first stars were appearing, dreamy and faraway in the night sky. Ducking discreetly behind an abandoned building, the Longbottoms took out their wands and Apparated to the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron, the small pub that led to Diagon Alley.

They passed The Blue Razor the first time they came to it, and it was several minutes before Alice realized they must have gone too far. Retracing their steps, Frank felt a strange sense of foreboding. He thought Alice must have felt it too, because her hand on his arm tightened. Her other hand, he could see, was in her pocket, no doubt clutching her wand.

The pub was tiny and disreputable-looking. A single lantern cast a sullen blue light over the scene. Between the steps leading up to the door, small weeds insinuated, little wagging green tongues.

“Courage,” Alice whispered, to herself or to him, Frank wasn’t sure.

Inside, there were several people occupying the stools that ran along the bar; they spared Frank and Alice no more than a glance before turning back to their cups. The tables that occupied the main floor of the pub were nearly empty.

“Do you know what she looks like?” Alice asked.

Frank shook his head. “The letter didn’t say.”

In the distance, they heard dull bell tones, striking the hour. Eight o’clock.

A man downed a shot of something at the bar and slid off his stool.  Singing loudly, he staggered toward Frank and Alice; they could smell the reek of alcohol.  He lurched forward, and grabbed Frank’s arm, as if to steady himself.

“Go out the back door,” he slurred into Frank’s ear, before continuing out into the night. A minute later, they heard him pissing against the wall of the building.  

 They exchanged a look, and Frank gave a slight nod. Together, they made their way to the back of the pub. It opened into a small and dingy courtyard that was littered with rubbish, the detritus of many a night’s worth of debauchery.  A hooded figure stood there in the dark, swaying gently.

“ _Lumos,_ ” Frank muttered, and held his wand aloft.

The figure stepped forward, throwing of her hood as she did so.  A woman stood before them, tall with languid dark eyes and rich black hair. Her red mouth twisted itself into a half-smile.

 “You wrote the letter?” said Alice. “You know where Caradoc is?”

“I will take you to him,” she replied. “You have the gold?”

“You shall get your reward after we’ve seen Caradoc,” said Alice firmly, though Frank could feel her trembling against him. _I don’t like this_ , he thought.

“Come here,” she said, and held out her hand.

They drew toward her cautiously. Frank realized she was holding something. He leaned forward to get a closer look.  When he realized what it was, he recoiled in horror. Alice was screaming.

 “ _Crucio_ ,” a voice in the dark whispered. Everything went black.


End file.
